Secret love is the humid rainy season,
It's not a momentary downpour, it's the bitter memories that occupy the heart. The sour green plum wine is mixed with unspoken feelings. There is sweet expectation hidden in the light sourness.
The secret love began in that early summer afternoon, when the sun shone through the branches and leaves of the sycamore tree, casting mottled light and shadow, just like the secret emotions in my heart, sometimes bright and sometimes hazy. The breeze blows gently and the leaves rustle, as if they are telling the unspoken secrets in their hearts. The chirping of cicadas comes and goes, like the background music composed for this secret love, sometimes high and sometimes low, just like the throbbing and anxiety in the young man's heart.
I often stand under the plane tree and pretend to appreciate the scenery, but in fact my eyes are always following your figure involuntarily. You may have never noticed that the occasionally falling sycamore leaves are like my silent confession, gently falling on the road you walk on. The air is filled with the fragrance of grass and trees, mixed with the faint fragrance of your body, which makes me intoxicated, but I dare not get close.
Every time I pass by you, my heart beats wildly involuntarily, as if the whole world has quieted down, leaving only the sound of the cicadas and your footsteps.
Motto: Life is a long road, and changes only happen in a moment. Cherish the moment.